


The Final Frontier

by Lone_Warrior_97



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Jon Snow is Jon Targaryen, Torrhen Stark never bent the knee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-07 15:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lone_Warrior_97/pseuds/Lone_Warrior_97
Summary: In a world where Aegon's conquest remained incomplete, 3 kingdoms struggle for power in Westeros. After Princess Lyanna is presumed kidnapped by the Dragon Prince, it sparks a war between the kingdoms, which results in a loss for the Dragons. In exchange for peace, the child of Lyanna and Rhaegar is taken as hostage to keep the Dragons in control.But that was years ago.The Dragons head north.The wolves prepare.And in the midst of all this, Winter is Coming...





	1. Arise.

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea bouncing in my head after reading Salt to the Sea (which, if you're into historical fiction, you should totally read), so I thought, why not make my own kind, at least stylistically. So here we are.

**The Young Dragon**

 

There was no sound like the echo of the Red Keep. The sound of footsteps reached further than the steps themselves. With high ceilings, cavernous rooms,and stones not meant to be placed upon walls, every secret is a stage whisper and every cry sounds as if it were the cries of thousands.

 

Perhaps that is why the Red Keep was such an ominous place to grow up.

 

A simple servant could make the sound of 10 men, and 10 men made the sound as if they were 100. So you never knew whether it was a messenger or an army sent for you. 

 

There had been many times that the latter was a legitimate worry.

 

Aegon did not remember much of those days. The last time the keep had been invaded was when he was but a babe, during what was dubbed The War of The Winter Rose.

 

A dark time for Aegon’s father.

 

Aegon came to a stop in front of the grand doors to the throne room. His father was holdin court, and it was expected of him as heir to be there to learn how to run the kingdom. Aegon rubbed the cold sweat from his hands.

 

He need not be so nervous. This was his first time, yes, but it would be Viserys’ first time at court as well. If need be he would let his uncle make a fool of himself to detract attention from himself.

 

The thought made him smile wide.

 

_ Knock. Knock. _

 

The door was heaved open, the light of the throne room splashing Aegon’s face.

 

Brightness and elegance in every nook and cranny. It was a show of how Dragon’s burned bright.

 

Except the throne.

 

Which sat dark and jagged, peaked upon a dias.

 

The man that sat upon it would look as bright as the rest of the room, if not for the expression on his face.

 

Aegon’s own smile vanished.

 

He bowed his head

 

“Your Grace, you called upon me?” 

 

Rhaegar sat in silence, staring down his eldest son.

 

Then he spoke.

 

“It’s time we go retrieve your brother, Aegon.”

 

**The Winter King**

 

“Your Grace! I have urgent news!”

 

Eddard Stark opened his eyes slowly, any hope of a peaceful prayer gone with the voice of his maestar.

 

And what a peaceful day it was.

 

It was a rare sunny day in the north, where the stormy clouds had faded.

 

“The Dragon King marches upon us!”

 

How ironic, Eddard thought, that it should be such a peaceful day.

 

A peaceful day indeed.

 

**The Captive Dragon**

 

A horrible day it was.

 

Spending all day training in the courtyard was marvellous when the skies were gray, but now it was simply too beautiful to stay in armour and swing swords.

 

Jon Targaryen wanted to ride.

 

Out into the lush wolfswood, filled with towering conifers, and squat mushrooms.

 

Where the hardy smell of woods, and the soft breeze of cool wind, would be heaven on earth.

 

But Jon would not ride.

 

Nor would he ask.

 

He would do as his captors bid.

 

Perhaps captors were too much to call his mother’s kin. They did not abuse him, or mistreat him. They simply caged him.

 

A captor that is kin is a captor quite the same.

 

“Focus you flimsy excuse for a man!” Yelled Ser Roderick, bringing down his sword. While not meant to kill, the blunted blades still did leave a nasty bruise.

 

Jon would prefer that not be the case, so he did as was bid, as he always does, and focused.

 

With a clanging riposte, Jon’s blade was nearly ripped from his hand, but the overextension of the knight’s hit left ample room for Jon to maneuver. He twirled into a spot to the periphery of the knight, and as Ser Roderick attempted to cover his overextension, Jon gave a vicious stab.

 

Which stopped just short of the tender spot adjacent to the stomach on the man’s side.

 

“Yield.” 

 

“Very well, I yield.”

 

Jon pulled his sword back, lowering it.

 

“Ha, I bet that must’ve got your blood pumping, old man!” Came from a voice behind Jon. Turning around, he notice it was his cousin, Prince Robb of Winterfell, a wide grin on his face as he came up and patted Jon on the back.

 

“Good showing there, Jon, I thought for sure your brooding would leave you purple for days, but somehow you’ve managed to fight and brood at the same time!” Robb’s grin widened with mirth.

 

“Thank you, your Grace.” Answered Jon, tone even and respectful.

 

“Bah, none of that, cousin! How many times must I tell you to call me Robb?” frowned Robb, playfully.

 

In truth, Jon did do that. When he was first brought to Winterfell, and he met his mother’s side of the family, so warm in greeting him. All except one. Lady Stark, who despised the boy who she perceived to have caused the war, and therefore the death of her little brother.

 

Jon found it easier to give into her demands as a child, and now as a man of one and four, had been in the habit too long for it to break.

 

One of her demands was to call Robb, ‘Your Grace’, even though in technicality both Robb and him were princes, one was simply the captive prince of a different realm.

 

Over time, his distance, encouraged by Lady Stark, had him grow apart from his cousins, save perhaps Arya.

 

In the beginning, most of the Stark children were close to him.

 

The first to break off was Sansa, who saw that Jon was not her dreams of southern princes, and therefore deserved no more attention.

 

Most of the other siblings followed soon after, except Arya.

 

Was it horrible that sometimes Jon felt that Arya was the only one who cared?

 

**The Princess**

 

Sansa believed she was caring.

 

She cared about her family, giving all her siblings as much love as she could. Even Arya, who made it extremely difficult.

 

She cared about her friends. Seeing Jeyne whenever she was sick, and helping Beth with her letters.

 

And she cared about Jon. 

 

More than she should for a hostage used as leverage to chain the Dragon King. But even though she did, it would not be a problem save for one thing.

 

Sansa cared about her mother.

 

And her mother did not care for Jon.

 

So Sansa stepped away, letting them believe that her dreams had filled her head, taking solace in the fact that Sansa knew she was a wolf and that was what mattered.

 

Sighing, Sansa put down her needle, stepping around the table, she went to the window.

 

Looking into the courtyard at Jon.

 

Yes, she decided, placing her arms onto the window sill.

 

I do care.


	2. Pyre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost couldn't sleep last night. Too many ides for this story popping into my head. Anyways this chapter has a bit of character development, but it's more exposition on the background of the story. That's it for me. Peace.

* * *

 

**The Young Dragon**

 

“We should wait until the North is weak!”

 

“No! Attacking now is best, gives us the element of surprise!”

 

“Too late now, reports show that King Eddard has called his lords.”

 

“We have a spy?!”

 

“Why do we need to go anyways? You’ve already got an heir your Grace, leave the second son to his mother’s kin!”

 

Aegon hated the small council meetings. The bickering, the posturing, the endless clammer of royal advisors. He hated that this council was so diverse that nothing was ever done, as members would always disagree. He hated how the lords would take insult whenever the king didn’t agree with them.

 

But most of all, he hated that he was made to sit through it.

 

Aegon was confused as to why his father deemed it necessary to call the small council. By his tone in the throne room, it seemed he was sure of the course of action.

 

Perhaps not, but Rhaegar’s face betrayed nothing.

 

“Perhaps we should first look at this diplomatically, your Grace.” Spoke out the voice of Petyr Baelish. A minor lord from the vale, he got his stunning recommendation from Lysa Arryn, and therefore Jon Arryn. There was no denying that he was intelligent, the limited things Aegon saw him do in his role of Master of Coin pointed to that.

 

“What do you think we’ve been trying for the last 10 years? They refuse to hand him over! Which we need to seek to fix, your Grace. It would look bad for the crown if we cannot keep a hold and protect members of the royal family.” Boomed Mace Tyrell, Warden of the South, Lord Paramount of the Reach.

 

Where was his care for the crown, Aegon thought, when the Northmen broke through the walls and invaded the red keep?

 

Mace Tyrell was the Master of Laws, but not by virtue of being just, but simply because he had too large of an army to ignore.

 

An army left large by allowing the Targaryen’s army to die in their place.

 

“The Targaryen Army was a sight to behold!” His uncle Viserys would tell him, “No single army could match it!”

 

“”Then why didn’t we win, uncle Viserys?” Little Aegon would ask innocently.

 

Viserys would say nothing, but his eyes would alight with purple fire. He wouldn’t be seen until dinner that day.

 

It was only when Aegon asked Rhaenys, that he got a proper answer.

 

“Because we were betrayed.”

 

**The Winter King**

 

“I say we threaten to kill the boy! Show those Dragon’s what they get for messing with the north.” Yelled Lord Glover.

 

“And if they do not stop? Will we simply kill Lya’s son? Preposterous.” spoke the booming voice of Lord Umber.

 

“Was that not the purpose of taking a hostage? To kill him when his family acts up?” asked the chilling voice of Roose Bolton.

 

Eddard took these in with a face as cold as the snow so common in his land. He took them in, but he paid them no mind.

 

Eddard knew what he had to do.

 

Jon Snow is the son of his late sister. The woman who ran away, became pregnant from the Dragon Prince, then spent five years in the Red Keep raising the boy, all while the fighting escalated beyond compare.

 

Eddard finally managed to get a courier into the Red Keep, to smuggle out his sister, only to find out she was never kidnapped in the first place, and this war that they had started with their southern neighbours was for nought.

 

In response, Eddard asked the courier to send a letter to Lyanna, telling her to sneak out and open the gates.

 

The courier wasn’t so successful the second time.

 

Eddard waited by the gate, hoping to find Lyanna, but she was not there. He assumed that she did not want for peace. He had leaned on the gate, but suddenly it did something unexpected. It cracked open.

 

Thinking this could be the way they succeed the siege of King’s Landing, Eddard returned to his camp and got a platoon together. They marched through the open gate, killing Gold Cloak’s as they saw on their way to the Red Keep. Fighting through the throne room, silencing guards as they went, they finally came upon the throne room. Someone was speaking in there.

 

“You see she-wolf, my guards caught that little courier, but I told them, ‘No, no, let him deliver that message.’ I only needed to see the seal that it was from Lord Eddard before I decided to let the guard’s let him go for now.” Rasped the voice of the Mad King, his voice holding a sinister anticipation.

 

“Of course, I had the courier executed later, but I wanted to see what you did with that letter. Which is also why it was left unopened, couldn’t risk you thinking anyone knew. You see she-wolf I wished to test you.” Here giggles were heard and Eddard could make out a muffled voice. Eddard gestured for his men to prepare the battering ram.

 

“I wished to see if you were loyal to us, to your new family. But of course, you went to that gate. My guard’s were waiting for you to leave your room to follow you. And there we found you, now here you are.” The Mad King broke up into screeching laughter.

 

The men charged the door.

 

It broke down with a crack, so loud that all occupants looked to the door.

 

All except one.

 

One was enough.

 

“Light the pyre!”

 

Then all hell broke loose.

 

**The Princess**

 

Sansa rushed through the corridor.

 

She had to talk to her father.

 

Urgently.

 

Talk around the keep was that the Dragon King would attack.

 

Talk around the keep was that father had called his banners.

 

Talk around the keep was that they were going to execute Jon.

 

She would not stand for that.

 

As she approached the great hall, she heard the sound of men yelling for their voices to be heard. As she came to the door, there was silence.

 

Her father had probably asked for quiet.

 

He was not a talkative king, her father, but he had the respect and knowhow to control the rambunctious lords of the north.

 

As she reached to open the door, she heard her father speak, which stilled her hand.

 

“The Dragon King attacks, yet I have his son, my nephew. If only it were easy to do this. I have thought long and hard on this milords’ and I believe there is only one solution. We must threaten to kill him.”

 

The lords cried out in denial and approval.

 

Sansa steeled herself and started to push the door, angry that her father could do something like that. To his own kin. How can the one who passed the sentence swing the sword when that would make them kinslayer? Sansa needed to change her father’s mind.

 

“Quiet! I was not finished.” This gave Sansa further pause. If they threatened to kill him, but didn’t then they’d be seen as weak. What would her father suggest.

 

“Instead of killing him, we shall send him north. To the wall. It is basically death for any young man. We shall tell the Dragon King when he comes that his son is dead and buried. We preserve the boys life in exchange for his future.” Eddard stopped, letting the words sink in.

 

For the first time in Sansa’s life, she heard silence in a room full of northern lords.

 

Sansa did not know what to think.

 

She remembered all the things Jon would do for everyone. Sparring with Arya, climbing with Bran, training with Robb. Giving her flowers.

 

Of course that was before her mother found out about her infatuation. Lady Stark demanded Sansa keep away from the hostage.

 

So Sansa did.

 

But she could not sit idly and let him suffer so.

 

The door opened.

 

“What are you doing here lass?” Spoke the voice of the Greatjon.

 

“I just needed to speak with my father with somethings.” Sansa smiled at the lord, stepping aside to let him walk past.

 

“Well, you’re in luck. The meeting is done. Just wait for the other lords to leave first.” Spoke Lord Umber as he walked off.

 

Oh I intend to, thought Sansa, it would not do for me to talk down Father in front of his bannermen.

 

Squaring her shoulders, straightening her spine, Sansa walked in.

 

Time to talk.

 

**The Captive Dragon**

 

Sitting in the godswood, always brought Jon’s memories to the forefront.

 

Mostly his bad ones.

 

Jon remembered the day he was taken from the Red Keep.

 

The day his mother died.

 

His mother was antsy that morning. Jon did not know why, but he would soon find out.

 

Too soon.

 

“I must go for now, my little Dragonwolf,” she whispered to him, “I will end this war. Then you can live the life you deserve.”

 

Jon nodded then, agreeing because he believed his mother would be back soon.

 

He wished that he spent more time arguing. Maybe she would’ve been delayed and think there’s no more time today to meet. Or maybe she wouldn’t go at all.

 

Jon didn’t want the life he deserved.

 

He wanted his mother.

 

But it was not meant to be.

 

Jon remembered entering the throne room. He saw his half-siblings with Queen Elia, so he sat next to them.

 

“What do you think’s gonna happen? You think they captured Northmen? Or maybe a traitor.” rambled his big brother.

 

“Please Aegon, quiet down, the accused will come soon, and we’ll see what happens to them.” Placated Elia.

 

“Whatever happens, they probably deserve a good burning. I know father always makes the right choice!” Exclaimed Viserys, looking at the pyre slowly being built. The traitor would be tied to it during the trial, and after the verdict, the pyre would be lit by wildfire.

 

“Here they come.” Said Rhaenys.

 

Looked to Rhaenys, but she simply looked forward.

 

Then her face changed to horror.

 

Curiosity peaked so Jon turned his head to look to see what could move even his stoic sister.

 

He immediately wished he hadn’t.

 

As the king spoke, Jon desperately looked for someone to help his mother.

 

The guards stood as they were bid.

 

The nobles watched as they would.

 

His family could not move, frozen in shock.

 

Where was father, Jon had thought desperately

 

His father was busy fighting in the Riverlands and had entrusted that his family would be cared for.

 

Rhaegar never made that mistake again.

 

Jon looked in desperation yet no one came.

 

So he prayed to the gods.

 

To the old.

 

To the new.

 

Then he heard the clang as the door was broken down.

 

Salvation.

 

Then he heard three words.

 

“Light the pyre!”

 

Damnation.

 

All hell broke loose.

 

Jon stood and ran to his mother.

 

The castle guards charged the northmen.

 

The pyromancers lit the flame.

 

Screams.

 

Blood.

 

Death.

 

“Mama!”

 

Jon ran as fast as he could, urging him towards his mother.

 

Towards the fire.

 

He was close.

 

So close.

 

Just one more step…

 

Then he was pulled back and turned around.

 

He beat against the chest of the man who stopped him, looking up into the eyes of the one who had stopped him.

 

He looked up into a mirror.

 

Eyes like his mother.

 

Eyes like his own.

 

The eyes of his captor.

 

Oh how the gods were cruel.


	3. The Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another chapter. This one is out to fill some backstory, and reveal some of the plan's being made.
> 
> Some people have mentioned that certain character's are a little OOC, and while that is a legitimate criticism, I'd just like to mention that, due to there never existing a full 'Seven Kingdoms' some of these characters have had wildly different childhoods. We'll look into that in this chapter, so strap in.

* * *

 

**The Winter King**

 

Waiting for the lords to leave, Eddard was given time to think.

 

An unfortunate thing, truly.

 

Think on what he’s doing now.

 

What he did then… 

 

The sky was bright upon the sky, cresting over the castle of Harrenhal like a crow, looking down upon the people scurrying on the tourney grounds.

 

“Ned! Let’s go! We can grab the best seats!” Yelled out the excited voice of his sister, Lyanna, as she ran up to meet him. She grabbed his arm and started dragging him along.

 

Eddard was unsure what to do with her. Although she was his sister, he hadn’t seen her in years. Their sibling relation was what tied them, but now that he was done his fostership with Lord Bolton, his father asked him to accompany his siblings down to the central kingdoms.

 

During the ride, Eddard had got to know his siblings. He liked Lyanna the best. 

 

Which was strange as she was the exact opposite of how Lady Bolton told him ladies were supposed to be.

 

The Dragons were holding a tourney. As a symbol of the century long peace that had lasted between the three kingdoms, the Starks and the Martells were invited, along with whichever bannermen they had seen fit.

 

Harrenhal was very different to the Dreadfort. Tall and towering, the lands surrounding it were green and fertile, with grazing herds of cows and goats dotted along the landscape. The dreadfort was squat in comparison, with lands that could be considered a frozen wasteland.

 

It was even colder on the inside, but not because of the keep.

 

“Stop being a broody little shit, Ned. We haven’t seen you in years, but now that we have, it’s almost as if we haven’t. Have you left your voice back in the Dreadfort?” Laughed out Brandon, Ned’s older brother, and the prince of the north.

 

“Hush Brandon, Ned is simply a little shy. Come! We must go forth. There is adventure to be had!” Spoke out Lyanna, heading toward the tourney grounds.

 

He wished Lyanna wasn’t so adventurous.

 

She would ultimately pay the price for it.

 

She and half the realm.

 

“Father.”

 

Eddard looked up, broken from the dark memories. There stood his eldest daughter, Sansa. She had her hands crossed behind her, and a stoic frown upon her face. Looking around he saw that they were the only two there.

 

He stood up and pulled her in for a hug.

 

She gave a slightly confused sound, before hugging him back.

 

“Father?”

 

He could hear the confusion in her tone.

 

Thank the gods that the only similarity between his daughter and his sister was their caring nature.

 

He stepped back.

 

“Sorry. What was it that you needed Sansa?” Here her face set back into the stoicism from when she entered the room.

 

“I heard what you’re going to do to Jon.” Her voice spoke out bluntly.

 

Eddard stiffened, before relaxing and looking sharply at his daughter.

 

“It’s not good to eavesdrop onto my council meeting, Sansa.” His voice came out sternly.

 

She blushed and turned her head, before shaking it and steeling herself.

 

“Perhaps it is wrong, but what you will do to Jon is worse!”

 

“And how is that? He won’t die. He’ll be sent to the wall. And that’s assuming the Targaryen’s attack after we threaten one of their family members. The point of Jon being here is to discourage the Targaryen’s from attack. If they do still attack, then we know that family means nothing for Targaryens.” Ned answered.

 

“If that’s the case, then why not just keep him here if his family doesn’t care?” Sansa asked.

 

“Power projection, Sansa. Saying we will do something, then not even attempting to do it shows weakness. A weakness only dead King’s possess.”

 

“Yes but you’re sacrificing his future -”

 

“And what future does he have!” Spoke Ned angrily, unhappy with Sansa’s constant pestering.

 

“He will go to the wall and that’s final. Perhaps I should not have allowed my children to become close to the dragon. I always tell my bannermen that you are the most dutiful. Prove me right. You know the North always comes first.” Spoke Ned, his voice calming from his anger.

 

His daughter looked up at him, shocked with his outburst. Then she turned and left.

 

Ned walked up to the door.

 

He closed it.

 

He locked it.

 

He returned to his seat.

 

Then he killed over with a muffled sob.

 

_ Forgive me, Lya _

 

The North always came first.

 

**The Princess**

 

Wiping a tear from her eye, Sansa ran towards Jon’s room.

 

She didn’t expect her father to react as he did.

 

He was always level-headed, stoic.

 

A rock.

 

She thought he would understand that he was attempting to take the future of his own nephew, but he didn’t.

 

If she could not get through to her father, then she would need to save Jon a different way.

 

Here she stopped.

 

What could she do?

 

She was but a girl, and she didn’t have any sneaking or sword-fighting skills.

 

How could she save Jon?

 

“Sansa! Sansa!” She turned to see her brother, Bran, running down the hall towards her.

 

“Bran? What do you need?”

 

“I tore one of my shirts when I was playing with Arya! I need you to fix it before mom finds out! Everyone knows you’re the best with a needle.”

 

A needle.

 

Yes.

 

That could work.

 

Sansa started to smile, looking aimlessly.

 

Then she felt a tug on her hand.

 

She looked down to see Bran looking at her, confused.

 

“You alright Sansa? You’re smiling weirdly.” Sansa quickly shook off her expression, then gestured for Bran to go lead her on.

 

With his back turned, Sansa’s smile resumed on her face.

 

She had a plan.

 

“Sansa? You’re doing it again!”

 

**The Captive Dragon**

 

News around the castle was that the Targaryen’s were planning to attack.

 

Of course, he heard this just before he entered any room. As soon as he entered, all would go quiet and avoid looking at him.

 

Except the cook.

 

“Aye, you Dragon! Your family coming North? Bet I could beat those flimsy southerners with my ladle! Ha!”

 

He was quite the personality.

 

Jon wondered what was going to happen to him.

 

He needed a plan of escape.

 

Although he loved his mother’s family, and he hoped they loved him in turn, he still needed to be wary.

 

The Stark’s didn’t become the ruler of the North through idle threats.

 

He knew Lady Stark would have no problem with him being put to the block.

 

He remembered, as a boy, wondering why Lady Stark hated him so.

 

No one would tell him, too uncomfortable with the topic.

 

Except the cook.

 

“Started the war your mother did, aye. But she was just the spark. The Mad King had been dousing his subjects in oil, and it only needed the spark of Lyanna being kidnapped to light the realm on fire. Even the dornishmen, who haven’t done anything but sit on their asses since they took down Meraxes! ‘Course, the dornish only managed to scrounge up a couple hundred men, and none of them made it to the front. Information delay, they called it. Bullshit! They wanted the Mad Fucker off the throne as much as we did.”

 

At this point the assistant cooks walked Jon off, scared with how the Lord and Lady would react if they knew what kind of vocabulary little Jon had been exposed to.

 

But his question was still left unanswered.

 

So he tried to go back.

 

The assistant cook stopped him.

 

“But he didn’t say why Lady Stark hates me!”

 

“I’ll tell you why I hate you, boy.”

 

Jon froze.

 

He slowly turned to see Lady Catelyn Stark, standing behind him with a thunderous scowl.

 

She slowly walked towards him, while the cooks stood back in fear.

 

“It’s because you stand here, when you shouldn’t. It’s because you live while my brother lays dead. The son of the man who invaded Riverrun. The man who put his errant vassals to the sword. The King,” Here her face scrunched up as if she had smelled something disgusting.

 

“The man who would leave my family with nothing, while I could only sit in the North and do nothing. I could do nothing then. I’ll do something now.”

 

Then she slapped Jon in the face, sending him careening to the ground.

 

That was the only time she had ever hit him.

 

That one time was enough.

 

As he lay there, soaked by his own tears, a strange thought came to his mind.

 

_ I could do nothing now. I’ll do something then. _

 

**The Young Dragon**

 

It was strange to walk in the garden’s with his father.

 

After it had become clear the council would go nowhere, his father had ordered the room clear, then gesture Aegon to follow him.

 

“You might be wondering, ‘why now of all times’?” Rhaegar gave a small smile when Aegon nodded. Then he closed his eyes and sighed.

 

“I’ve done a lot in the time I’ve been on this world. Some I regret. Some I do not. But know that from the age of one and two, everything I have done was for the future. Not just ours, but the world’s. The world is not as it was meant to be Aegon. In another world, my dreams show me 7 united kingdoms. Not three kingdoms that frequently clash. I thought to make that a reality Aegon. I would marry a Dornish princess, your mother, and a Northern princess, Jon’s mother.” He paused, taking a breath, before letting out a self-deprecating chuckle.

 

“Oh how foolish I was. In my ambitions to unite Westeros, I only cracked it further apart.” His frown intensified.

 

“Not only that, but I managed to ruin the lives of many, when I was only trying to save them all.”

 

“I don’t understand. Why would the kingdoms need to be united? We have done well without being united.” Aegon spoke out, stopping his father’s monologue.

 

Rhaegar looked off aimlessly into the distance.

 

“The long night, son. I was preparing for the long night. But I fear in my haste, I have left the realm worse off to face the rising evil.”

 

“If what you say is true, then isn’t it better to leave the North? Not take anymore casualties. Invasions are quite expensive.” Aegon asked, confused what his father was thinking with this war he was planning.

 

“Who said anything about an invasion. No, this war I am planning is just a front. The Dornish are hungry to show their support. The errant lords of the past wish to give reassurance that they are with us now that the mad king has been deposed. The lord’s of the realm have always thought that the sanctions imposed by North have always been to severe, especially in light of the fact the kidnapping was no kidnapping at all.” Rhaegar turned toward Aegon.

 

“I shall use that son. I will build the largest army the south has ever seen. Then the North shall respond in kind, calling all men forward. Then I shall send a letter to Eddard Stark, and tell him my true purpose. To fight the Others. To save the realm.” Rhaegar grabbed ahold of Aegon’s hand.

 

“You ask, ‘Why now of all times?’ Simple. The long night is upon us.”


End file.
